


Life Isn't Nice

by deadbod1222



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Bar, Crying, Depression, Other, Sad with a Happy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-28
Updated: 2017-10-28
Packaged: 2019-01-25 19:16:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12539264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deadbod1222/pseuds/deadbod1222
Summary: What happens if there are soulmates, but your soulmate doesn't seem to exist? Pain. That's what.





	Life Isn't Nice

**Author's Note:**

> Soooo, my N key isn't working, and I had to go back and add it on a different computer, so I may have missed a few N's. Plus, this is Unbeta'd. So, sorry if it sucks, and deal with it.

Y/N looks at themselves in the mirror. they glance over their typical features. They look different every day. Their hair never falls the same way, there is never the same look in their eyes. Never the same thing every day. But then why is everything so boring??? You look at the name sprawled over your heart in Times New Roman Text.  
It appeared this morning in your shower, and you definitely did not let out a girly shriek and drop your body soap. Nope, not at all. Nor did you the do a happy dance and the slip on said body wash. You have never been more thankful that you live alone. Nor more confused afterward. Because, who in the hell is Eliot Waugh?  
You spend years searching for this person. This guy, who seems to not exist. You stay up late at night for years, constantly searching. Never finding him, you start to lose hope. You check every find your soulmate website that exists. You read every phone book, cover to back, because what if it was mistyped in the wrong section? Over the years, you get more tired, more depressed. By now, you have no friends, and your family quit calling ages ago. In every spare moment of college, and in all your brakes at work, you spend them on Eliot.  
You look in the mirror, after a long day of searching, and still, nothing. You look at your face. How pathetic. You’ve got deep bags under your eyes. They are lifeless, with no spark. You haven't had that spark since the day you got your soulmate mark. You look at your mark and start to cry. You cry for hours, long wails, an endless stream of tears. You break down, completely. You scream, and you cry, and you break things, things that used to mean so much to you. But not now. Now, it all seems so pointless. You hit the floor, and curl up into a ball. You don't move for hours. I mean, what’s the point? You waited for this person your whole life. You did everything, all of it, for them.  
One day, you decide to quit. This person, they don't exist, or they don't want you. You don't know which is worse. You sink into a big depression. Barely eat, you try to never sleep because he haunts you in your dreams. And they are good dreams. They are warm, and bright, and so so happy. Eliot, he loves you in these dreams, he caresses your face, and he holds your hands. He cuddles, and for some reason he smokes? But you never care, because you love whoever this person could be.  
And when you wake up, you die inside, because, it wasn't real, was it? Just a dream. Where your dreams were warm and bright, and happy; your reality is cold and hard. Its grey and listless. And it hurts. Oh, how it hurts. Somedays, you wake up and you scream. You wail. Because god, its just not fair. And some days, you wake up and you just close your eyes. And you wish. God do you wish. You just want it to be real. Is that so much to ask?

One day, you decide, hey! Let's go to a bar. Just to forget, just for a night. So you throw on a grey cashmere sweater, cause who gives a fuck anymore? You throw on an old pair of jeans. A pair of sneakers. You drive to a bar in a haze. You drink, and you drink. And someone sits next to you. A tall man with a slim thin physique and pale skin. He is wearing formal clothing and has dark curly wavy hair. He has a cigaret in his mouth, and even though he just entered the bar, he is clearly halfway to wasted.  
“Eliot Waugh.” he inhales on his cigaret.  
“ And whom, Hottie, are you?” he smirks over at you. You’re wasted, and you feel like this is some bad dream, but you smirk right on back, and tell him,  
“Want to get out of here and fuck?” You pull some bills out of your pocket and toss them on the counter. You stand and walk out, not waiting for a reply. He smiles at your retreating back and follows.  
You make it back to your place, in a hot mess of hands and kisses that light you on fire. Every touch feels like a star is going supernova. It’s hot, and heavy, and is possibly the best moment in your whole life. This is who you waited for.

When you both wake up, you are curled up in his arms. And his had is in your hair. He is awake.  
“So, this is going to sound very weird, but my name is not Eliot Waugh. You see, I’m an actor, and I was a tad bit drunk last night, and Eliot Waugh is the character I play.”  
You stiffen up at the first part of the sentence, but you relax. Of course. You remember, there are two types of soulmate marks. One is the first words, and one is their name.  
“Well, I have been searching for an Eliot Waugh for years. I thought it was your name, not your first words.” You tell him with a weak smile.  
“Well, It’s very hard to find someone whose first words are, and I quote, ‘Want to get out of here and fuck?’ he says, and gestures to his chest where the words are so eloquently written.  
“So, Mr. Soulmate, what is your name?” you lean over and kiss his lips. He smiles.  
“Hale Appleman, who, my dear soulmate are you?” he stares intently at your face. You tell him your name. And his smile is blinding. And you have waited for him, your whole life, and you are finally, happy. Truly happy.

He asks about the state of your place, and you tell him, in a detached way, your life story. How you waited. How you searched, how much you hurt. And he cries, and you cry, ad he whispers.  
“Never again. I'm so sorry. But I'm here, and I won't leave.”  
“It’s not a dream?” you whisper in a broken voice into his chest.  
“No, it’s not a dream,” he says, and kisses over your heart. You smile, and some tears slip down your face, but neither of you mentions it.


End file.
